The Strange Delivery of Mr Von Lipwig
by DrFrankenburger
Summary: Moist Von Lipwig has an an unwelcome Hogswatch visitor who may not be quite what he seems. I borrowed the visitor from German - speaking Alpine communities. Most of him, anyway. Rated K for off - screen industrial accidents and an intimidating supernatural presence.
1. Chapter 1

The Strange Delivery of Mr Von Lipwig.

 _Disclaimer: 'Discworld' and its characters/institutions/milieu belong to the late Sir Terry_

 _Pratchett and his heirs. This story is for entertainment only and I claim no commercial interest in_

 _it._

 _Moist Von Lipwig encounters a supernatural entity intent on taking him to task for being a_

 _naughty boy._

Chapter the First, in which Mr Von Lipwig receives an unwelcome awakening.

.

Moist Von Lipwig, Postmaster General, Master of the Royal Mint, effectively Chairman of the Royal Bank **(1)** should have been enjoying a good night's sleep in the Postmaster's Suite at the Ankh - Morpork Royal Mail Building. Adora Bell had agreed it would be a good idea if the boss was on site during the the run up to Hogswatch. He'd taken a moment (given the nature of his relationship with Spike) to realize she was talking about him. He was sleeping the sleep of (not the innocent, he was Vetinari's Rascal) but at least the 'Already Found Out Rascal for the Public Good' because Deputy Postmaster Groat had drawn the night shift this time.

Unfortunately Mr Groat's 'young lady' shared the opinion of Mr Lipwig's wife that important postal officers should be on site and available to their subordinates in the run – up to Hogswatch. **(2)**

The two men made the most of it and bunked together in the suite for the duration. Mr Groat was deferential to his leader, considering a sleeping bag on a brimstoned rubber airbed on the floor sheer luxury compared to the pile of blankets on the locker room floor that had been his wont before the Deliverance, his name for the renaissance of the Post Office brought about by Mr Lipwig. In spite of the old man's near worship of the Postmaster, it has to be said that Deputy Postmaster Tolliver Groat was far from being an ideal flatmate. It started with his home – made medicines for one thing.

There was a sulphurous smell. There was prodding. Moist hated prodding. Few people dared do it now since Spike had intimidated Vetinari's Palace Guard into waking her husband with fresh coffee and a bowl of warm water to shave with should their master decide Moist had an urgent nocturnal appointment with him.

'This had better be important Tolliver. I don't want a late running postie getting the jitters about your medicine drum in the yard again. You know you shouldn't let them put undelivered mail in it at the end of long shifts.'

Mr Groat's medicine drum had been a compromise. He didn't trust doctors so he made his own medicines from (sometimes unstable) alchemical ingredients. Even his boots smelled of sulphur (which was probably preferable to a postman's overworked feet.) The Deliverance had seen the recruitment of many new postmen, who had learned about the bottles the boss's deputy kept in the locker room. Which could explode without warning. They had been unhappy campers. Mr Groat had agreed to keep the bottles in the yard, in a lidded drum half full of sand. **(3)** This would have been ideal, but Mr Groat had seen in the drum a way to avoid some of the logjams of undelivered mail that had contributed to the Fall of the Post Office. Instead of allowing it to build up in corners, he had reasoned, let it be collected in a place where it could be assessed and allowed for.

He had discovered the hard way that a postman's delivery bag could fly.

Moist was still pushing for undelivered mail to be collated at the counters, no matter what Miss Maccalariat might say.

The prodding continued.

'All right Tolliver, I'll see to it just stop the prodding will you.'

'I think you need to pay attention and rouse yourself properly Mr Von Lipwig.'

That wasn't Tolliver speaking. And the voice had a faint Uberwaldean accent. It was unlikely to be an Assassin. These days the Gentlemen viewed his usefulness to the city as being on a par with that of the Patrician or Commander Vimes. Someone he'd swindled or cardsharped in his former life ? He discounted that immediately, none of the marks had been this good or even bore the potential to become so. A feral vampire ? Impossible, they needed your permission to enter your dwelling.

He assessed the odds as he awoke, so, Uberwaldean, capable of getting through a busy sorting and delivery office with a public counter, and doing so undetected. And whoever it was needed to talk to him. If they'd wanted him dead (and some of his marks had been _very_ angry on realizing they'd been conned) it would have been more efficient to murder him in his sleep to avoid the risk of his calling for help. Cheerful thought. And if they needed to go to these lengths to get his attention it was bound to be a tricky matter. Things were looking up with a bit of risk – taking to anticipate and that was where Moist Von Lipwig lived. For just long enough he could make up the world as he went along, make glass look like diamond, deal the cards in _just_ the right way to make other players think he was losing or even sell an old hack to an experienced horseman for a thoroughbred's price.

He awoke and sat up to be handed a steaming hot cup of _Splot._ **(4)** Things were looking up if someone from the Old Country was going to be this civil after the abrupt awakening.

Moist then caught sight of his visitor by the light of the lamp in the now scruffy bedroom that two busy men with little time for housework had been using for a week or so.

The visitor's appearance was... _demonic_...with a humanoid face bearing goat's horns, a darkly furry body (such of it as Moist could see) and goat hooves for feet.

'I never expected to see you outside of Uberwald, and if you are here on business then that jester's motley is in poor taste.' Moist now knew who his visitor was. What was coming would be unpleasant but it wouldn't kill him. Probably.

(1) Mr Fusspot might disagree. With slobbering. See Sir Terry's _Making Money._

(2) So the ladies weren't disturbed writing cards and wrapping presents.

(3)There is a Roundworld post office name for this : Bomb Bin.

(4)An Uberwaldean pick - me – up. But then you'd have to come down from the rafters.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter the Second, in which a penance is decided upon.

'I have my own reasons for the costume, mostly to do with this city's laws about public nakedness without actually being a statue or a Golem. **(1)** And I am trying not to look threatening.'

Moist was processing what he remembered about the 'Hogswatch Demon.' The creature was a figure from Uberwaldean folklore, especially in the mountains. He was a sort of shadow to the Hogfather. The Hogfather (theoretically) rewarded good boys and girls, whilst his current visitor's task was to punish the naughty ones. With a schoolmaster's cane. When he manifested to adults, he would put them to some gruelling penitential task to expiate their sins, set (it was said) by the Gods themselves.

Oops.

At least the Splot wasn't leaving him tongue tied this time, but his mind was now racing.

'You may be confused by my appearance in your adopted homeland **(2)** but you have to be aware that belief is the limiting factor. There is a thriving and expanding Uberwaldean community in Ankh – Morpork. The most famous are your 'good'/equivocal self, Otto Chriek of the Times and Captain Von Uberwald of the Watch. Seeing their fellow countrymen do so well, they see you as an example to follow. The number of Uberwaldeans of all species is now sufficient that I can manifest here, though only to members of that community. You know therefore, that penance for your sins is required. Only then will you be rid of me.'

Moist had been very naughty indeed in Uberwald, especially Uberwald, until his travels and swindling had led to Lord Vetinari conscripting him into public service, and even the Patrician didn't know the full extent of his former criminal career. **(3)** He knew he had to accept the penance, whatever it would be. You just didn't cross the Gods. He silently uttered petitions for mercy unto Offler and Anoia, the deities who had arguably done best out of the Deliverance. **(4)**

Prayers are a hotline to divine attention, though not necessarily intervention. In a corner of the Divine City, away from the main streets full of temples, churches, chapels, shrines, wats, mastabas and other religious buildings, Offler the Crocodile God and Anoia, Goddess of Things that Get Stuck in Drawers were sharing a sauna after the latest bout of P E teaching inflicted on the Pantheon by Pedestriana. They were too tired to care about propriety after what had seemed like an endless penalty kick practice. Not that they would have cared anyway. They were a god and a goddess. Who would dare say anything ? Rumour had it that the Goddess of Football was planning to start a Divine League right here in Dunmanifestin. Moist's prayer reached the attention of both deities, neither of whom was in a good mood.

'Itth Von Lipwig, I thuppothe we owe him thomething,' Offler managed.

'Look who is with him though. Let's stay out of this. It'll serve the little tit right.' replied the goddess.

'Isn't that a bit harth on Lipwig, not to mention faithleth ?'

'You sound more like an Igor every day. And I wasn't talking about Lipwig. I think the Postmaster may be about to teach someone a lesson.'

Back in Moist's apartment, the Postmaster was facing up to his past.

'All right, I'm prepared to do penance for my sins in Uberwald,' said that country's most devious sinner.

'Very well, you have chosen wisely. You will need to wear the Golden Uniform. The visibility and authority it represents will be of value in the course of the three tasks which gave been laid out for you in this context.

Your first task is to repair a bridge that is broken, though not necessarily in the physical world.

Your second task is to save a life at some risk to yourself, a risk you might not anticipate.

The last is to redeem another of your choosing, no matter who that may be, though they must have attracted the ire of the Gods. I will be on hand to supervise, I may even assist.'

High on Cori Celesti, two deities watched the encounter with interest. Mr Von Lipwig looked like he would provide an interesting diversion from football training and if he didn't best the 'Hogswatch Demon' then they had seriously underestimated him.

Moist had carefully donned his uniform, which seemed to glow in the lamplight.

'Let's do this, I am ready to expiate my sins in Uberwald.' said the possibly the Disc's mightiest sinner. **(5)**

Moist Von Lipwig found himself in a snowfield, in the heart of a raging blizzard. There were wolf – like howls on the wind in the middle distance. He remembered enough of his native country to know the howl of a werewolf in wolf form. His uniform still seemed to be glowing. Brightly. Lit up like the top of a clacks tower on the night shift.

Visibility probably wasn't going to serve him here. It occurred to him that the spirit hadn't said _who_ the visibility would be useful to. Then his visitor threw him a rag which smelt faintly of beer slops.

Hundhuttemeister lager. **(6)**

That brought back memories of his grandfather's Lipwigzer kennels, and the old boy unsteady on his feet after an evening at his local bierkeller. That lager had been the older man's favourite tipple. Was this intended to be a psychological torture as an appetiser before the physical sensation of being eaten by werewolves ?

Anoia looked at the tableau and decided that Mr Von Lipwig's penance was probably going to be one of the best Hogswatch shows she'd ever watched. So did Offler.

(1)Unless you had a good explanation for public nudity, ideally one that made the Watch laugh.

(2)As if Moist had had a choice. See Sir Terry's _Going Postal._

(3)The Agateans were still looking for a 'Foreign Devil' over a _huge_ insurance scam.

 _(_ 4 _)Going Postal_ again.

(5)Not necessarily the same as _most wicked_ sinner.

(6)Best I can do for 'Kennelmaster' with German representing Uberwaldean. Sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter the Third, in which a bridge is mended.

Moist was running information, priorities and ideas through his mind at the speed of Splot. Wearing a uniform lit up like a Hogswatch display. Check. Running through a snowfield in what might be Uberwald or the environs thereof. Check. A werewolf or werewolves howling in the middle distance that might or might not be closing in. Check. Repair a bridge ? How far had the engineers got in rebuilding the Vilinus Pass Bridge ? No time to check now with Lord King. **(1)** In possession of a dirty bar rag damp with Hundhuttemeister slops. Check. Now he had to formulate a plan.

Or wing it.

Come to think of it his uniform was his only protection from the cold and the glow was lighting his way. Werewolves hunted by scent and nowadays the civilized ones **(2)** only hunted men who had challenged them to the Game and filed legal indemnities with a local lawyer. Memories of how Ambassador Vimes had happened to werewolf supremacist Wolfgang the Unsporting were still relatively fresh. He decided to take his chances and hope this was either a local aristocrat hunting game or playing the Game, with a side order of 'he'd better not mistake me for the poor bugger !'

Then the howling drew closer. Yes it was closing. There were multiple howls on the wind now and at least one of them was definitely a werewolf. But there was something about the other howls, something that just didn't make sense.

Most of the voices were those of dogs.

Dogs didn't normally run with werewolves. Or even with wolves. They just didn't get on. And Moist could tell something else from the sound. It was familiar. He'd been fooled in Ankh – Morpork, but this was almost certainly Uberwald. He smiled with anticipation.

Those dog howls were being made by Lipwigzers. **(3)**

He decided to stop and see what happened next. He was well versed in giving Lipwigzers orders and was confident in handling them, whereas most people were quite wary of a breed that was big, strong and resembled Rottweilers in almost every way. Rottweilers could be aloof if they didn't know you and didn't feel threatened.

In an environment where they were enjoying themselves, Lipwigzers could take it into their heads to be boisterously friendly. When they did that it could almost make you wish they were being rough deliberately. **(4)**

The first members of the pack crested a nearby ridge and did something remarkable. They stopped in a line and turned their heads as if to better hear orders from a huntsman. He could still hear the werewolf howling behind them. The howls seemed to be reducing in volume and frequency. Was the werewolf giving orders to a pack of hunting dogs ? He had to admire the skill involved. Twenty Lipwigzers were now on the ridge, and there didn't seem to be any more coming.

In the falling snow he could make out something odd about their collars, but flakes driven on the wind and the darkness outside the patch of light cast by his uniform stopped him seeing exactly what it was. And where was the _Werwolf Jagermeister ?_ **(5)**

He was bowled over by a furry body and the bar rag was snatched from his hand by hairy jaws.

Moist pulled himself back to his hands and knees, still oblivious to the cold from the Splot, and beginning to wonder if the drink had made him hallucinate. A mature and very male werewolf in lupine form was chewing the rag, rolling on the ground and wagging his tail like a delighted puppy.

Moist spoke in Uberwaldean.

'I realize this might be embarrassing sir, but I am Moist Von Lipwig, Postmaster General of Ankh – Morpork, here on private business but willing to offer such assistance as I can.'

There was a risk the eccentric huntsman might not be able to focus on what he was saying and he was ready to try something else to secure the creature's attention when something he _hadn't_ anticipated happened and he wished he hadn't seen it. No wonder werewolves didn't like to be watched Transforming.

Now an old man sat naked in the snow with a grubby bar rag held between his teeth. He spat it out, scambled to his feet and offered Moist his hand to shake.

'Moist, it's good to see you after all this time, you should take the trouble to write now you've more or less sorted the mail and the clacks systems.'

The old man had replied in the same language, hardly surprising, but Moist was still momentarily taken aback.

The elderly werewolf was his grandfather.

'I realize there's a lot of catching up to do, but I can only spare a few minutes. The dogs need a breather, we are on a rescue mission for the Lipwig **(6)** Civic Rescue Team. People who stray into the storm can come to grief.'

'You don't seem to feel it, Grandfather.'

'New lease of life on becoming a werewolf, quite the accident, but did me a favour in the long run. Can withstand this weather without Splot in my system and I can talk to the dogs now. Literally. And they can talk to me, makes rescues easier. And why is that horned and hairy rascal over there trying to hide behind a snowdrift ?'

'He's the reason I'm here and if you can see him I think you can guess why. **(7)** Is there a bridge down in the area ? He said I'm here to mend a bridge.'

'Not that I can think of. I'll think on it while I introduce you to the boys and we catch up. Then you two can make yourselves useful. You ! Get your hairy arse over here and hold your hand out you naughty boy ! I know who you are and what you're putting Moist through ! You too Moist !'

Moist stood still and held out his hand, he knew what was coming and smiled to himself as it was clear his nocturnal visitor did not, and looked worried.

'Here boys. Friends ! Introduce !'

Herr Von Lipwig talked to the dogs in Uberwaldean in the same clipped way he spoke to his two human(oid) companions.

One by one the animals came over and sniffed the newcomers' outstretched hands, then returned to what looked like a search line on top of the ridge. Their master decided time was right to explain a few things.

'You see the collars. Small cask of cold Splot in each one. Don't use brandy, too risky in this climate. ( **8)** As for me, damnedest thing and you can blame Baron Von Eisen for it, **(9)** but I don't. Found him in the woods in a terrible state. Must have just Transformed to man shape. Burns to his legs, thrashing about in pain foaming at the mouth and, really strange, some posh ladies' stockings nearby, what was left of them. Even had some silver embellishment. Not going to ask what he was up to in that respect. Not my business. But he was on my land and injured so I thought it best to see to him. Couldn't get through to him. Seemed to be delirious, kept muttering something that sounded like 'bloody fool.' **(10)** Inclined to agree, getting close to silver like that. Followed standard practice for first aid with an uncooperative wounded werewolf. Bashed him on the head to stop him moving and treated the burns. Cleaned and dressed them. Checked his pulse. Got some of his slobber on my hand. Must have been a scratch I didn't notice. Symptoms came on a couple of weeks later. Used it to my advantage. We followed your career, wrote a few times to see if you were _our_ Moist Von Lipwig, but long distance mail still runs a gauntlet of bandits from time to time round here.'

'If you've followed my career then you must know I've done things that were not a credit to the family name.'

'Things to chuckle over you scamp ! Your public service since then more than makes up for the swindling as far as people around here are concerned.'

A suspicion began to form in the back of Moist's brain, but the thought was interrupted by a voice.

'Congratulations Mr Lipwig, you have repaired the bridge between you and your family, I said it was not necessarily in the physical realm.'

'You could have been clearer. You also said you could be of assistance. As you are a spirit of Hogswatch I now would have you in The Spirit of Hogswatch make yourself useful in this rescue.'

'I cannot refuse.'

'I thought so.'

(1)See Sir Terry's _Raising Steam._

(2)By Uberwaldean standards.

(3)Moist's grandfather bred them and Moist knew the breed well. Long story.

(4)'He's a big softy really, just shove that gaping maw full of teeth away from your groin...'

(5)Lycanthropic Huntmaster. Not a drink. German representing Uberwaldean again.

(6)The town, not Moist's family.

(7)Werewolves have a stronger psychic ability than most other people.

(8)Really true. But Splot can leave you next to freshly cut firewood wondering how it got there.

(9)If you've read my story 'The Clown and the Assassins' you may see this one coming.

(10)Told you.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter the Fourth, in which gods look on and communications workers confer.

In another place, looked at one way being the summit of Cori Celesti, another way a place not bound by the normal constraints of Space and Time **(1)** Anoia and Offler had finished their sauna, made themselves presentable and moved on to the 'Loaf and Carafe,' a small new eatery with a vaguely Omnian vibe to it, for a _shawarma_ each. **(2)**

'Do you think Joshua will make a go of it ?' enquired Anoia.

'Thith plathe ? If the food and wine are anything to go by he'll thrive. Brilliant catering thkillth ! Even if hith believerth hadn't landed him here he would have ended up thome kind of ethnic thelebrity thef !'

Joshua smiled faintly. He was a recent arrival and Offler could be hard to understand, especially when talking with his mouth full, and the 'ethnic chef' could sometimes find find the egotism and occasionally patronising ways of his new neighbours trying. Still, sometimes you had to approach the top of society to secure more believers and on this world the Pantheon on Dunmanifestin were Top Gods. If he could just get _them_ to believe in him...

'It lookth like the Pothtmathter thuthpectth hith vithitor wathn't completely thtraight with him.'

'I agree, let's keep our minds on the show, this is the most diverting thing I've seen in a while. Do you think we should tell any of the others ?'

'Given Von Lipwig'th karmic thignature it'll be all over the Thity before long !'

Meanwhile, at some distance Rimwards, two communications workers were conferring. One of them looked like something out of a very strange storybook. The other was a Goblin. In fact he was Mrs Von Lipwig's personal assistant, Of the Twilight the Darkness.

'Missus Boss said to see if Mr Wet was still busy at work, knows he looks for challenges, and may be driving mail coach express speed on icy road to get post to train station.'

Mr Groat bristled slightly at the disrespect shown his superior, but took a grip of himself. The Goblin had accompanied Moist on the frantic mission to Bonk to restore the Low King to power, and if anyone had earned the right to speak of him so, it was Of the Twilight the Darkness.

'I was about to check on him, it'll be shift change time soon, we should go to the apartment.'

Mr Groat, being in charge in Moist's absence took the lead at a surprisingly sprightly pace for a man of his age, slightly discomfiting the little PA.

'Clean living, the care of a good woman and all – natural home – made medicines' **(3)** explained the old man.

Mr Groat knocked on the door. Not raising an answer he took the official keyring out of his jacket pocket. Relieved of the weight, the jacket hung oddly from his shoulders. **(4)** He opened the door to find an untidy suite, no Mr Von Lipwig and a stronger smell of sulphur than usual.

'I hope I'm not being culturally insensitive, the Postmaster does go on so if he thinks I am, **(5)** but can you make something of this Mr Of the Twilight the Darkness ? I think something supernatural may have happened to our Postmaster.'

'I think you right on the money here Mr Prophet. **(6)** I needs to look into this. Goblin ways and means. Suggest you sends a junior to inform Missus Boss while I see what I can do. Looks like you pulled double shift – and plucky Goblin sidekick needs go to Uberwald !'

'Do you need a rail pass ? I can talk Miss Maccalariat...'

'No need Goblin trick to get there quick, bit like Feegles !' **(7)**

Mr Groat took his leave of the little clacksman and went to find a junior postman to send to the Von Lipwig residence with the treat of informing Mr Von Lipwig's good lady that her husband had probably been supernaturally transported to Uberwald, and that Of the Twilight the Darkness had gone to look for him. She was less likely to be dangerously sharp with a newbie not fully aware of the Post Office/Clacks/Von Lipwig dynamic. **(8)**

Of the Twilight the Darkness looked around him, and carefully closed the door of the apartment. He didn't want any of the posties seeing this. It wasn't to keep any cultural secrets. Among Humans only a wizard or witch would be able to grasp it anyway. He'd heard _stories_ about this place and what the staff might do if stressed out. It didn't do to unsettle the posties. **(9)** He wasn't about to make anyone Go Postal on his watch.

He prepared to follow Mister A Bit Wet to Uberwald. It was a similar trick to the one called the 'crawstep' by the Feegles, but nobody human could have pronounced the Goblin name for this opening of a path through the secret passages of the world's dimensions. It was a path a Goblin could stroll through.

When Mr Groat returned there was an absence of Goblin, but Of the Twilight the darkness had left a memo.

'Mr Prophet, Gone to Uberwald looking for Mr Boss. Should have said before but maybe can do something about time elapsed. See you soon.'

It wasn't signed but it didn't have to be, by now Tolliver Groat knew the PA's handwriting as well as his own. He didn't notice the lack of a pun based on Moist's name. If he had he'd have realized his colleague was worried.

Of the Twilight the Darkness stepped into an Uberwaldean snowstorm at the back of a pack of howling Lipwigzers.

(1)You get this kind of thing in worlds where magic holds sway.

(2)A kind of Klatchian/Omnian kebab wrap equivalent. Tastier than a burnt offering.

(3)Foxgloves are natural. So is deadly nightshade. So are death cap mushrooms.

(4)Most people wouldn't notice, it was so old and distorted anyway, issued when he joined.

(5)Like the Watch, the Post Office was a species – blind employer. The Mail needed the workers.

(6)During the Postal Interregnum Mr Groat had constantly prophesied the Deliverance...

(7)Goblins have the discipline for 'normal' jobs, Nac Mac Feegle are more...idiosyncratic.

(8)Moist _did_ call her 'Spike' and her late brother had called her 'Killer.' In a good way.

(9)Their anger was worse. Unlicenced thieves would surrender to the Watch rather than face it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter the Fifth, in Which a Rescue is Effected and Moist Gets Cold.

Moist Von Lipwig was following the pack with his mind still churning. There was no getting out of the penance but he had a pretty good idea of who his visitor was by now. He shouldn't be surprised, many of the Gods, even Blind Io, leader of them all, would moonlight under assumed identities. And the visitor's Hogswatch name was a give-away in Ankh – Morporkian. If he was who Moist thought he was, getting the better of him would be tricky, and he'd best improvise the con. There wouldn't be enough time for a complicated sting, and his opponent might realize Moist was turning the tables if given long enough to observe events.

There was another lull in canine howling, and a strange sound as Herr Von Lipwig Changed.

There was also a strange smell.

Of the Twilight the Darkness had caught up with them. The Goblin had also taken the trouble to ensure he was in possession of a flask of his signature coffee. **(1)**

The old man was briefing the humanoid members of the party again.

'Got an assistant now Moist ? Hope he can take the cold. The boys say we're nearing the casualty now, and they think she's not that badly hurt. Ankle stuck in a tree root concealed by snow, we can dig her out and get her back to town in two shakes !'

'Er, Grandfather, a lady to rescue and you have no clothes on !' The old man laughed.

'You really have been away from Uberwald too long!' Moist squirmed internally that he'd forgotten something so basic. **(2)** And his thought processes were no longer quite so rapid now. Even Splot wears off.

'Mr A Bit Wet, you is mixing with entities beyond Nature ! And it look like you on edge of running out of puff !'

'I think I'll manage here, Mr Of the Twilight the Darkness. The physical challenges are almost over, just a 'heroic' rescue to undertake and then it comes down to talking persuasively, and I'm good at that.'

They had neared an isolated tree. It was a gnarled, twisted, mythic looking tree. If you looked at it in ordinary circumstances you might think 'that looks like a tree in a fairy tale.' It was also thickly burdened with snow.

The dogs were digging enthusiastically, tails wagging, and Moist went up to the casualty to offer assistance. He was slightly taken aback. Long black dress. Conical black hat. Nobody had mentioned the casualty was a Witch !

A Witch with one ankle caught in the tangled tree root.

Roley Eminence **(3)** was not a happy Junior Postman. At first he'd been impressed that Deputy Postmaster Groat himself had selected him for a special mission. Then he'd been told that it was to take potentially troubling news to Postmaster Von Lipwig's intimidating wife with a 'better take a _velocipede_ **(4)** with you, I know it's not that long a walk, but the means of a quick getaway might be handy.'

At least Mr Groat had put the news in letter form and told him to ask Mrs Von Lipwig for further instructions _before_ handing it to her. There were Post Office Rituals to be followed here. There were also unofficial ones, he mused gloomily as he headed into the malodorous **(5)** undercroft to sign out a vehicle.

The technician in charge of the _velo_ pool having been satisfied, Roley crossed a floor made uneven by crusted avian deposits to take possession of the allotted vehicle. He reached the right point in the rack, took the Sonky **(6)** off the saddle and put it in the small saddlebag with the tool kit. He noted that the city's inconveniently high water table had led to the floor being damp as well as crustedly uneven. Junior Postman Tom Brown, (Graf Konstantin...several pages of names...Von Bad Schuschein, the Post Office takes all sorts) a Black Ribbon vampire, reported that this working environment had given him psittacosis, which is a bird disease **(7).** It seemed even the _aggressive_ water of the River Ankh couldn't modify the leavings of the Ankh – Morpork Post Office Pigeon. Except make it slippery he noted, almost falling over. He wasn't going to try riding in here. Push it up the ramp to the yard. Mount up. Ride off and try not to steer directly through piles of horse apples. They could be almost as slippery as pigeon muck.

In Uberwald, Moist was offering his assistance to a witch who was both amused and slightly bemused.

'The Golden Postman himself, or is it the State Banker or the Master of the Mint ? It's hard to tell, what with you being Vetinari's _Ba Pu.'_ **(8)**

'Mistress, it's very cold. There's snow everywhere and even magic can only keep you warm for so long before you freeze to death. Can I help you free your ankle ?'

'Have the old man call the dogs back. You need room to work. It's all I can do to keep hypothermia at bay. And Herr Von Lipwig, no need to put your hands there ! I'm doctor, nurse, midwife and funeral advisor to most of this community. It's not exactly news to me that men have tonkers ! It would be useful if you forget your grandson's big city embarrassment and give him a hand. Two big strong men would be useful. The dogs dug the snow away, but they don't have hands .'

A strange sound that a humanoid throat shouldn't be able to produce pulled back the Lipwigzers.

The witch in question received assistance from four men, though it has to be said that in this case for three of them this was for a given value of 'man.'

Five people sprawled backwards and then got up and scurried away from the tree.

'My broomstick !'

Moist noted the problem and in accordance with his 'a life without risk is not worth living' philosophy, dived to retrieve it.

And was intercepted by quite a lot of snow arriving from the tree in a downwards direction.

(1)Good for you, all natural ingredients – but the same is said of Mr Groat's improvised medicines.

(2)Uberwaldeans have few nudity taboos. Something about werewolves being so widespread.

(3)If you know the history of Roundworld stamps...couldn't resist.

(4)So named by the Patrician. It's a bicycle, quite a common postal delivery technology.

(5)Pigeon doings, as Mr Groat would say.

(6)Not _that_ kind of Sonky, but a rubber shield to keep the guano off the saddle and posties' trousers.

(7)Dr Lawn of the Lady Sybil Hospital had been stunned. Vampires don't get psittacosis. Normally.

(8)Agatean mandarin. Noted for holding many tainted jobs of disgraced officials. And their salaries.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter the Sixth, in which Blind Io Matches Wits with an Original Thinker.

'It lookth like Von Lipwig ith in theriouth trouble.' Offler actually sounded worried. For a god this was unusual, but Offler had been around a long time and understood the importance of a certain level of give and take between a god and a believer who had been of service.

'The dog pack are digging him out. They seem really eager, look at those wagging tails ! It looks like the glow from his uniform isn't bothering them at all and I can see movement from under the snow. He's working to dig himself out as well. This is seriously exciting, and look, the other men and that witch have dived in to get him out !' Anoia could barely keep the agitation out of her voice.

'I think Von Lipwig knows exactly what he's doing. Keep on as you were ladies and gentlemen. I need to compliment the chef privately in the kitchen.' This was the voice of Blind Io, leader of the Pantheon. It was wisest not to interfere. It also had to be said that the prediction about the story spreading had been correct. There was quite a crowd of deities around Offler and Anoia's table, which was now acting like the Game Board of the Gods, showing a running panorama of the rescue party and their actions.

And the deities weren't even having to influence their behaviour.

In the kitchen, Blind Io was talking quietly to the occupants. He started with the kitchen boy, who was looking a bit sheepish.

'Reg, I should be surprised to find you here at Hogswatch, but I guess your gigs are a bit thin at the moment.'

'Sorry about that sir, but musicians are usually busy at this time. They tend to neglect religious observances until they are resting from their Hogswatch gigs. I have to moonlight, and young Joshua had recently opened and was looking for help.' **(1)**

'I suggest you go into the room and take orders. I know Joshua is usually front of house as well as cooking, but we need to have a private word.'

'Very good sir, I'll see if I can discreetly prolong the process, but we have quite a crowd in. I may not even have to dawdle. Von Lipwig attracts audiences the way Professor Rincewind can.' **(2)**

Reg picked up an order pad and a pencil and scurried out into the dining room.

'Young man, or perhaps I should say young god, I'm impressed. You couldn't have known about the way time and space can do funny things around here, but the time since you faked your deific agnosticide **(3)** and the way you did it has brought you believers which secure your place here. It was a stroke of genius relying on Didactylos the Blind as a witness. You sowed the seeds of needing faith.'

Blind Io pulled a book out of the folds of his toga. It was a copy of' ' _On Religion,'_ a book the chef now known as Joshua knew well. He had written it after all. **(4)**

Abraxas the Agnostic knelt to Blind Io.

'I offer you my fealty sir, I knew it might come to this,' said Joshua/Abraxas.

'No need for the fealty bit, lad. We are a community, we share theological knowledge in the interest of maintaining our position in the world. But don't forget I am First Among Equals.'

Joshua reached into his tunic. He pulled out a scroll. It was the original manuscript.

'I'm still finding my feet following apotheosis **(5)** and I was under the impression that the work had been suppressed lest it expose divine vulnerabilities.'

'It does that alright, youngster, but that isn't why we discourage its possession among mortals. It's not just an abstract treatise on theology. It's actually a bestseller in the Divine City and even among other pantheons because it is a manual for making yourself a god _and staying that way_ if you read it correctly, but then it's obvious you know that.'

Joshua/Abraxas put the scroll back in the greasy folds of his work tunic.

'I had hoped my vaguely Cenotine assumed name might throw you off the scent, as far as I know they were an ancient Circle Sea culture from the vicinity of Tsort, Ephebe and Omnia.'

'I've checked this out. I know there are still a few Cenotine communities in the world. They usually include individuals skilled in interacting with Golems and knowledge of some Golem lore is common among them. I keep an eye or two on new arrivals and you've never mentioned Golems in casual conversations with your customers. You also seemed to know more about Ephebian democracy and that state's take on slavery than a Cenotine would. **(6)** That was enough to get me sufficiently suspicious to examine your timeline.'

'I just came in to mark your card, let you know that I'm aware of your origins and that before long the others will have worked it out too. Try to build up your numbers of mortal believers discreetly. I prefer a certain level of ecumenism to what can happen between the believers of gods who have quarrelled. These days the words _crusade_ and _jihad_ make me wince. Now that we have the briefing over, I think I'll join the others watching the floor show. And to save bothering Reg, run me up a _shawarma_ would you ?'

As Blind Io sauntered back out into the room, Abraxas returned to work, prioritizing the leader's order. Things had gone better than he'd hoped. Having mortal believers was good, but they required constant recruitment and replacement. _Immortal_ believers on the other hand would confer certain advantages. No need to worry about providing a suitable afterlife for a start. He'd have to be careful that his fellow deities didn't catch on, people can get testy if they think they are being manipulated. And these people could throw lightning around when their tempers were tried. He winced at the memory.

Blind Io made his way to a table – side position, the crowd parting subtly in front of him in the mysterious way crowds can when the boss takes an interest in something. Even Bilius **(7)** had dragged his vomit stained self in despite his workload at this time of year, he noted with distaste. It looked like the show was getting to yet another interesting stage in its development...

(1)Reg, God of Club Musicians, doing what work he could get in a dry spell.

(2)If you are a Discworld fan...would love to write for Rincewind the inept and cowardly wizard.

(3)Killing of an agnostic (annoying nosy parker) by a god or gods.

(4)From Sir Terry's 'Small Gods' ...This sub plot may have led you up the garden path.

(5)Becoming a god, as if you didn't know.

(6)Ephebian slaves lived well. (Small Gods.) They would differ with Vetinari's take on this.

(7)The 'Oh God' of Hangovers.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter the Seventh, in which a Junior Postman Encounters a Formidable Lady

 _I offer a big 'thank you' to everyone who has stuck with the tale so far. A review or so would be welcome as I hope to develop into a better writer._

Roley was wheeling his vehicle up the front driveway of the Von Lipwig Und Dearheart

residence. **(1)** He knocked at the front door as was was Post Office custom. It was drilled into everyone who joined. 'You are not a tradesperson. You are the King's Officer, enacting the Royal Will by delivering the mail. The King would not go via the back door so neither do you. We know there isn't a king any more, but we are still here and so are the Royal Statutes that established the Royal Mail.' **(2)**

The door was answered by an unexpected figure in a leather apron cinched at the waist by a tool belt.

'Arr can Oi 'be 'elpin 'ee good sorr ? ' said the servant, 'Mr Crossley, 'ee be 'elpin' to set up t' Hogswatch dinner at t' Butlers' Guild, 'n' Mrs Crossley she be by way of shoppin' roight now, which do leave me as sort of actin' butler until one of 'em gets back.'

'Special delivery for the personal hand of Mrs Von Lipwig Und Dearheart, if you would Crisp,'

said Roley, feeling less confident than he sounded. He'd recognized the servant, all posties were informally briefed about the Postmaster's idiosyncratic household, but he'd been hoping for the professionalism of Crossley rather than the handyman's possibly ham fisted attempt to cover some of the senior servants' duties. He'd even understood him, most posties quickly got used to the wide variations even found in the grammar, pronunciation and vocabulary of Ankh – Morporkian spoken within the city. **(3)**

Mrs Von Lipwig, severe though she could be, would almost certainly pay attention to such a special delivery by one of her husband's Post Office people. It was important enough to require her personal attention and might even be work – related, given their positions within the city's and wider world's communications network. She was also sensible enough to understand that, liberal employer though the Post Office could be, there were also its rather hidebound customs. Like the postie always calling at the front door, not the tradesmen's entrance.

Once the Post Office had begun its resurgence (The Deliverance as Mr Groat put it,) this custom had attracted the ire of some of the more traditional lords, but the new Postmaster General was with Commander Vimes on this one, though somewhat more diplomatically than the leader of the Watch was wont to be.

It had been trying having to deal with Lord Rust, Lord Selachii, Lord Venturi and Lord Eorle in turn when they had raised objections, but Moist had thought this one through carefully and had pretty much a stock answer ready even before being bearded by the first irate aristocrat in the metaphorical queue.

'My Lord, I sympathize with your irritation, but the postman calls by Royal Statute, officially on the King's Business. To make the King or the King's Officer conduct business via the back door is to commit _lese majeste._ **(4)** Your own patent of nobility was signed and sealed by royal authority,

which indicates that you as a Lord of the City, must uphold the will of the King in all matters, irksome though it may be.'

The lords had blustered and been hard to mollify, but even they had been forced to admit that Moist was right. The alternative was taking it to Vetinari for arbitration and they knew that he would in all probability force them into a humiliating public climbdown which would also reinforce his own position as the holder of theoretically delegated royal authority.

Which left Roley waiting rather nervously at the front door of the Postmaster General's house.

'Mrs Dear'art'll be with 'ee prresently Sorr,' said Crisp, having spoken to the lady of the house, 'she'm jus' dealin' with a matter as called on 'er attention quoite severely, but thinks she can wrap it up in just a shake now.'

A woman in an austerely cut grey dress was now approaching down the hall. The cut of the garment did not indicate attempts at economy or a disdain for unnecessary frills. Her dress screamed 'businesslike' at you. **(5)** As if this was not enough by which to identify the head of the Grand Trunk Telegraph Company, she was also puffing fiercely on a cigarette, generating a cloud of smoke that wouldn't have looked out of place at the front of a train. **(6)**

The lady in question spoke.

'Thank you Crisp, I'll take things from here.'

Although she was present and as far as he could tell she was paying attention to current events, Adora Belle Von Lipwig – Dearheart appeared to have something on her mind.

'I believe you have a delivery for me young man.'

'Yes Ma'am, and Mr Groat has asked for you to issue instructions for me to take back to the Post Office.'

Roley had spoken as he handed over the letter, aware that this kind of approach had covered the safety of posties before, when in the presence of people of a 'shoot the messenger' turn of mind.

He needn't have worried. She opened and read it.

'Well at least this confirms I knew where he was **(7)** and that he has Of the Twilight the Darkness looking after him.'

She took a pencil from a discreet pocket and wrote a reply on the back of the letter. Even Roley could see the message.

'Expect both Postmaster and my PA to be back shortly. Tell Of the Twilight the Darkness to get brewing when he gets back and the tell him to send my husband home with his own silver tongued version of today's adventures – along with what has been brewed, Of the Twilight the Darkness knows which medicine I mean.' **(8)**

He rode back to the Post Office hugely relieved that things had gone so well. Mrs Von Lipwig had even tipped him five dollars in the spirit of Hogswatch, obviously confident of her husband's well – being and looking forward to seeing him soon.

(1)Adora Belle had been amused by this Uberwaldean way of expressing a hyphenated surname.

(2)Commander Vimes takes a similar view to the legal principle of 'King's Evidence' in Sir Terry's 'Snuff.'

(3)Don't get me started on Dimwell Arrhythmic Slang...

(4)Compromising the dignity and/or authority of the King in this context.

(5)In a well - tailored and elegant way.

(6)Steam train of course...

(7)Wives and mothers can do this – or is it something to do with Anoia and Adora Belle ?

(8)If you've read Sir Terry's 'Raising Steam' you'll know too. Parental discretion is advised.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter the Eighth, in Which a Trickster is Bested Before the Gods.**

 _This may look like a concluding chapter. It isn't. I have some loose ends to tie up, which may take a chapter or two. In keeping with Discworld canon about the number eight, there's a lot of supernatural stuff going on here._

'...that tree root _twisted_ when I stepped near it. I flew closer to the tree to investigate a strange sound, dismounted and began walking up to the trunk to see if there was a stranded traveller near it, then it _grabbed_ me !'

'Some things are not adding up properly about tonight Mistress...' Herr Von Lipwig allowed the sentence to tail off, he'd not had much to do with the witches, and this one was relatively young.

'Hexe,' **(1)** she said. 'It really is my family name. It helps when I haven't been introduced to people in emergency situations. My name even serves as a title to address me by. That tree may have been a trap to set something up.'

'Given who is present I wouldn't be a bit surprised,' said Moist. He stretched and yawned. If this was a dream it was going on a bit, but he was starting to feel warm and half asleep, **(2)** he'd soon be starting his shift when Mr Groat dug him out of bed. He collapsed, snoring onto the snow.

'Mr Boss, wake up, warned you about this, need to get you up and moving again !'

Of the Twilight the Darkness was surprisingly strong for someone of his size and quickly hauled Moist into a semi sitting position.

'Hellish Human brew **(3)** worn off ! Need to get some good strong Goblin coffee into you !'

Moist was vaguely aware of the distinctive flavour of the goblin's coffee being poured down his throat, there was even some heat still in it, **(4)** and Mistress Hexe's worried voice.

'If he has traces of Splot still in his system and there are medicinal herbs in that coffee, there could be unforeseen interactions.'

Moist could feel vitality returning. Traces of the Old Country pick – me- up were introducing themselves to the extra ingredients in the coffee, and they were forming new alliances. New vistas of consciousness were opening up for him. He could see much of what was _really_ there, though sparing him the full depressing _knurd_ **(5)** state that Klatchian Coffee would have induced.

'We have an audience,' he managed to say.

'Astfgl. **(6)** He can see us,' muttered Blind Io. He decided to extend the vision of the gathering in Dunmanifestin to the rest of the little group in the snow.

'Don't bother kneeling people, we are not in a temple right now !' The voice of the god sounded impressive in their ears but somehow didn't carry further than Moist and his companions.

The dogs appeared to be motionless in time, frozen as it were in the act of doing various doggy things they had busied themselves with whilst having no immediate duties to perform.

Moist noted that, oddly enough, the gods he could see appeared to be sitting and standing around a table in what looked like perhaps an Ephebian restaurant or kebab/shawarma shop. One of them was handing a shawarma to Blind Io.

'On the house boss,' he heard the curly haired and somewhat swarthy staff member say. Some things didn't change when it came to toadying then.

'Mighty ones, we believe the time has come for some audience interaction,' said Mistress Hexe, bowing from the waist. **(7)**

'We who are gathered for your entertainment would fain speak with you.'

She had clocked the tableau on the table.

There was a huddle of deities and a hubbub of urgently whispered voices along the lines of 'they think it's our fault,' 'well we know it isn't,' 'whose is it then ?' and then quite tellingly 'and why is Goat Boy over there trying to hide behind the tree ?'

'May I speak to you as a penitent in the process of discharging an obligation ?' Moist addressed the crowd around the table. There was a general murmur of assent. Penitence was a good thing. It kept believers from getting too big for their boots and reinforced the Pantheon's position.

'You have the floor Mr Von Lipwig,' said Blind Io, 'you have a knack of being entertaining and useful and I would speak privately with you when you have finished.'

This could be good and it could be bad. Having to see Frau Shambers after class hadn't always been an enlightening experience, and as for boarding school where some of the teachers had been even worse bullies than the other kids...he dived in.

'I would speak for Mr Prankus, **(8)** who is currently hiding behind that tree, and not just because he looks ridiculous in jesters' motley. I would also have him speak to me and ask some questions.'

'Very well, Mr Lipwig, and it will be edifying if your companions Witness this. Prankus, step forward next to Mr Lipwig.' Blind Io's statement was an order this time.

This was raising Moist's spirits considerably. He was in control of the situation and Prankus was looking decidedly shifty, shuffling from hoof to hoof.

'I am going to complete the third task you set me, here and now. But first, what did you really have the authority to set me a penance for ?'

There was an embarrassed mumble.

'Speak up that entity !' snapped blind Io, beginning to sound testy. He wasn't sure he liked the way this was going.

'Scrumping Mr Drumknott's pecils !' squeaked Prankus, managing to find his voice. He was radiating nervousness, way beyond where someone who was within his rights would be. **(9)**

'And so you played up the Uberwaldean milieu when you manifested to me. It was to trick me into suggesting I undertake a penance in Uberwald, to make the suggestion myself. You set this up and I would have enjoyed the battle of wits and been glad of the reconciliation with Grandfather Bastian. But you went too far. In setting up that tree and Mistress Hexe you put an innocent bystander and the community she serves at risk.'

'I admit it ! I meant no harm and was sure of your abilities ! Your penance for the pencils would have simply been showing pity to a lonely outcast and sharing a glass of schnapps or similar with me, but the temptation to gull the King of Conmen was too great ! What a tale that would make !'

'You very nearly managed it, but I recognized the style. Only one entity would over – reach himself so ineptly, so I ask...'

'Steady on,' said Prankus, 'no need to...' **(10)**

'...that though he has offended the Gods, and come close to bringing the Pantheon into disrepute, **(11)** Hoki the Jokester be reinstated to Dunmanifestin and found something useful to do, it worked for me. I suggest he be assigned to maintaining the drains of Mr Abraxas' establishment. **(12)**

Abraxas was startled.

'How did you recognise me ?'

'Your bust is outside the Applied Philosophy Department at UU. And I knew this was your day job in your mortal life.' **(12a)**

'Well I could do with some help, I'm fed up with rodding drains myself, what is your view Lord Io ?'

Blind Io pondered for a moment.

'In the spirit of Hogswatch, I rescind the exile of Hoki the Jokester who may now reside within Dunmanifestin should he so choose, but while resident he is responsible for keeping clear the drains of all Ephebian establishments therein. This is my decree !'

'That should keep the little pest too busy to cause trouble,' he muttered to himself, privately noting that Hoki could now come back in a way that not only laid a shedload of extra and unpleasant work on him but wouldn't gain him any believers either. Mr Von Lipwig had definitely bested Hoki the Jokester. Word would get out. It always did, and it would be one more story about the triumphs of the Golden Postman.

'The adventure is over. We will make arrangements for everyone to return to their proper places. Hogswatch is coming and it is a time for generosity. Now, while everyone is milling about trying to make sense of what just happened, I would confer with you privately Mr Von Lipwig...'

Moist knew that this was going to be interesting. He was also aware of an Agatean curse about interesting times.

(1)Uberwaldean for 'witch,' literally.

(2)If you've hiked with the Scouts, you'll recognize hypothermia symptoms.

(3)Look who's talking...

(4)The flask may have been a Goblin Pot of sorts. See Sir Terry's _Snuff_ for an introduction to them.

(5)The reverse of 'drunk,' seeing with no illusions _at all._ Can be a very gloomy state of mind.

(6)It seems appropriate for a god to use a demon's name as a swear word.

(7)'Witches doesn't curtsey, witches bows !' - Granny Weatherwax.

(8)By now you'll probably have guessed the Roundworld spirit he's based on.

(9)Though simply being in the presence of this Pantheon would make almost _anyone_ nervous.

(10)You may have spotted where this is going and who he is. Reg moonlighting was a clue.

(11)And _that_ takes some doing.

(12)Posties returning from Ephebian holidays hadn't been impressed by that country's plumbing.

(12a)There were ancient Roundworld philosophers with day jobs. Aristotle was a sculptor.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter the Ninth, in Which the Adventure is Reflected Upon.**

 _This will be the concluding chapter for now though it has brought up some new ideas that might be worth exploring. I may do that here or I may do so in new stories. I hope everyone reading this had a happy Hogswatch, and are now looking forward to Soul Cake Tuesday. I know the link of the latter with Easter is debatable, but conflating the Soul Cake Duck and the Easter Bunny was beyond my ability to resist._

Blind Io was pondering the events of a very strange day, even by the standards of Dunmanifestin.

Had he really followed the suggestion of that Von Lipwig fellow ? Yes he had. And the thought of Hoki up to his furry thighs in fatbergs **(1)** and other muck as he worked to clear drains made him chuckle.

He'd had a quiet word with the Postmaster General about each letter being as a prayer unto Fedecks, who hadn't been seen lately.

'I hope you can bring him back from this situation, the Fall of the Post Office hit him hard. You are his avatar in the mortal world after all. You might want to see Mr Groat about it, too.'

He noted that Moist Von Lipwig had seemed to be in a distracted frame of mind, but put it down to the known confusing effects of the presence of divinities on human consciousness. **(2)** He'd also passed on some advice about prayer and meditation but couldn't be sure it had sunk in.

In another part of the Divine City, Offler was regretting losing a bet with Anoia. She'd wagered that Von Lipwig would teach Hoki a lesson and been right. Now Offler had to encourage his priests to install altar drawers to keep the sacramental frying pans in. **(3)** He was uneasy about the potential for another deity to draw the attention of worshippers in _his_ temples, but a bet was a bet. **(4)** Now it was time to turn in and wait for things to get comfortably warm again. The downside of being a crocodile god was the quasi – reptilian metabolism.

Anoia was contemplating both her win with Offler and the disturbing situation when she had felt Mrs Von Lipwig Und Dearheart's consciousness inside her mind right here in Dunmanifestin. It didn't help that Anoia had once been more powerful as Leela the Volcano Goddess, then lost believers and much power in, of all things, a seismic cataclysm. **(5)** She had tried all kinds of paths back to the Pantheon, and hadn't always been that powerful an entity, leading to gaps in her memory. **(6)** And the woman was her avatar in the mortal world. Or was there something deeper at work ?

In the mortal world, having assured himself of the welfare of his dogs, returned to his house, slipped into carpet slippers, an old linen shirt and a pair of well worn lederhosen, Bastian Von Lipwig settled into his favourite armchair and lit his pipe.

You had to hand it to the Gods, they could be thorough. His boys were back in their runs and didn't appear to be unsettled by the experiences of the day. It also looked like Blind Io had provided each one with a fresh marrow bone.

Dogs are not big on philosophical thought. Especially in the presence of a fresh juicy bone.

It had been good to mend some bridges with Moist, and he'd regretted the need for everyone to go their separate ways for now. He'd have to find some more forceful way of getting through an invitation to his grandson for a holiday up here. And he would _really_ like to meet the woman who seemed to have tamed Moist's wild streak. She had to be something very special indeed.

Mistress Hexe was a relatively young witch, with modern ideas. At some point she would like to see the big city, if only to be sure that the vocation she had for her steading in and around the town of Lipwig was a firm one. Perhaps she could talk to Herr Von Lipwig about it, his grandson being such an important man in Ankh - Morpork.

It was odd, but even so soon after meeting Moist Von Lipwig, she could only remember the golden uniform, but not anything else about his appearance.

Of the Twilight the Darkness was glad to have been of service to Missus Boss. That young postman had been somewhat nonplussed by his taking the note and almost immediately producing a pot full of a potion he proceeded to take straight to the apartment.

'I don't know how he does it either lad,' Mr Groat had said. **(7)**

Roley Eminence was a much happier junior postman now that he'd accomplished his mission without falling into anything unsalubrious, or having anything unpleasant done to him, returned the _velo_ to the pigeon – haunted undercroft without falling over or being messed on and took a meal break for a crispy bacon sandwich and a big mug of coffee. Not the posh Brindisian kind that came in a cup the size of a thimble. Proper Post Office coffee you could tar roads with, containing what would be a diabetes – inducing amount of sugar for anyone who wasn't a postie. **(8)** He now had a chance to consider what to do with that generous tip...

Mr Groat was delighted to have the Postmaster General returned to the Royal Mail. He remembered the years of the Interregnum all too well, being the only Believer of the Faith left keeping the letter – haunted Temple of Fedecks barely functioning through the decades. **(9)** Any of the Postmaster's absences from the city unsettled him, despite his own impressive skills in keeping the mail moving. Some day soon there was a subject he was going to have to raise with Mr Von Lipwig, and he would need to choose his time and words carefully. The boss had needed to be pulled off him by Mr Pump after a surprise revelation once before. **(10)** He didn't want Moist Von Lipwig going postal again on being made privy to Tolliver Groat's knowledge.

Adora Belle Von Lipwig Und Dearheart was glad to have her husband back in one piece. She had been careful to instruct her PA to be sparing with the dose of potion given to Moist. There weren't any terrorists hiding in the bushes to dismember this time. **(11)** He had been reasonably lucid, but very tired, being able to tell the story, but not showing any of the potion's more _personal_ side effects. She had deemed it wisest to let him sleep off the effects of his adventure while she contemplated her own actions in the near future. Consulting with Miss Extremelia Mume at the Temple of Anoia would probably be a good start.

As he began to drift into the sleep of the totally worn out, Moist reflected it had been a good day. He'd bested a rather disreputable god and re - established contact on good terms with Grandfather Bastian. Something was puzzling him though.

What had Blind Io meant when he'd said 'You must find Fedecks within yourself ?'

(1)Accumulated mass of fat in a sewer. You _really_ wouldn't want more detail than this.

(2)It wouldn't have occurred to him to consider the Splot/Goblin Coffee interaction. Gods, eh.

(3)For Offler's relationship with fried sausages, see Sir Terry's _Going Postal_.

(4)Anoia's forfeit would have been to quit smoking. She was _that_ confident of Moist winning.

(5)An earthquake. But bigger.

(6)Check out Om's problems in Sir Terry's _Small Gods._

(7)Moist was right about him having access to strange paths through the world. We saw it.

(8)This really was a fair description of Post Office catering once. Seen it.

(9)It seems reasonable to assume that the Post Office is, or is on the site of, a Fedecksian temple.

(10)See Sir Terry's _Going Postal_.

(11)See Sir Terry's _Raising Steam_ for what happens when moist (justifiably) goes postal.


End file.
